Darkest Hours
by Rhowan
Summary: "It was all over now. Harry was dead. Voldemort had the Elder Wand. And as undesirable number two, Hermione was sure to be first on the kill list." A dark version of the events of The Battle of Hogwarts. Happyish ending. Dramione. Oneshot.
**(Insert usual "this is my first fanfiction!" rant here.)**

 **So... long story short I've been working on several different oneshots and story lines for a while now, but this is the first one I've actually posted. Please R &R! (Critique is encouraged, flames are not.)**

 **Disclaimer: If I was J.K. Rowling, why the heck would I be writing fanfiction on my own writing? Therefore, I am not her. I am not claiming her work. I am not making money off of this. But if anybody finds out how to make money off of fanfiction, do tell.**

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It was all over now. Harry was dead. Voldemort had the Elder Wand. And as undesirable number two, Hermione was sure to be first on the kill list.

She stood in the crowd, hand latched onto Draco's like it was the only thing keeping her standing. Hand over her mouth; sobs stifled. Covered in dirt and sweat and blood until it became another layer of skin.

Harry's body was held in Hagrid's arm like a trophy, a spoil of war. Limp. Cold. Lifeless.

The sight of Harry's body quickly crushed with utmost brutal force whatever hope The Order may have had for victory. They were doomed now. It would be a massacre; no Order member would escape tonight alive and uninjured.

But one can never be too cautious. That must have been what The Dark Lord thought as he cast Harry's body into the air, toying with it and ripping it to shreds until the carcass was hardly recognizable as a human being.

Amber flames licked the sky as Harry Potter's body burned to ashes that nightmarish day.

And then Draco was called. Beckoned, to join his parents. To join the side he was supposed to be on. The one he was supposed to be loyal to. The ruling side. The dark. Evil.

Bellatrix was cackling with her high pitched laugh, a laugh that could have once been endearing if it was not coated in insanity. The woman was psychotic, unpredictable, and _dangerous._

Like a pair of stone statues, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood by Bellatrix's side, a safe distance away but not so far that it appeared intentional. They were staring at Draco, with their hands clasped together in a mirror image of Hermione and Draco's own. They were glaring at him, beckoning with their eyes that if he didn't get over there _right this second_ he was a dead man walking. Not that he wasn't already.

And Voldemort. Lord Voldemort stood in front of them all, with his white skin reflecting the light of dawn and his red eyes gleaming with a reptilian quality. He _exuded_ power. And it wasn't misplaced. The Dark Lord was their ruler now, and it was best they all bow down to him by their own will before he made them.

It was dead silent. Not just without noise, but _silent._

It was that awful kind of silence where the utter suspense of it chokes you and tortures you until your gasping for breath and begging for relief. Clawing at your neck and leaving jagged cuts and bloody scars behind. Begging for some sort of noise. Begging for someone to break the spell.

It constricted them. Nobody could breath. Nobody could move. Nobody could speak. Nobody could do _anything_.

The taste of ash was in Hermione's mouth, in her stomach, her blood stream. She was not human. Only a pawn. A sacrifice. A creature. A creature of war.

Because that's what everything was now-a-days. Some sort of product of war. Nothing had remained blissfully unaffected.

It was revolting, to reflect back on what kind of monster she'd become. A murderer. A torturer. A cold-hearted _beast._

It's all for the greater good, right?

Voldemort's voice was like a siren's call, lulling Draco in so he could be disposed of quickly and efficiently. Another blood trailer eliminated. Repulsive.

But it was working. Even now, Hermione could feel Draco pulling at her hand, listening to Voldemort's song. His eyes held a deep set longing, a longing to be accepted, appreciated.

Even as a boy that was all Draco wanted. A kind word from his mother. Praise from father to son.

And he wanted it _so bad._ Wasn't that what he had been striving for this _entire time?_ He had done everything his father asked of him, taken every criticizing remark from his beloved mother to heart.

Clearly it was no use. No matter what he did, he couldn't make them proud. He was always a disappointment. A useless piece of filth that should be shamed and hidden.

That was when he sought The Order.

He did _everything._ Saved the Golden Trio from Malfoy Manor. Relayed every piece of valuable information he knew. Tortured. Killed.

It didn't matter. No matter what he did, he was always just another Death Eater. And he was starting to believe it. But Hermione didn't.

Hermione. Hermione Granger was his one ray of light he could depend on in this darkness. She was the one who he could talk to openly and show his weaknesses to and just _be_ with.

He loved her. She loved him. And that was all that mattered. They only had each other. No one else could be trusted. They all betrayed too easily. They would do _anything_ in hopes of self-preservation. Draco supposed he was being a bit of a hypocrite, considering he had switched sides himself. But he had done so for more than his own life. He had done it for Hermione's too.

And that's where they stood. Desperately linked together, not sure if they were on the right side, but knowing that death would surely await them on the other. Neither of them knew which was the better option.

The Dark Lord was weaving his lies again. Now he was promising forgiveness; acceptance and honor. He told Draco that if he joined them, leaving the 'filthy Mudblood' behind, he would be allowed to live another day. Draco didn't believe it for a second. But what choice did he have?

Draco let go of Hermione's hand. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, whispering apologies and dead promises. He told her that it was only until he could escape again. He told her that he would be beside her before she knew it. He told her that this wasn't goodbye.

Oh, how she wished she had said something in return.

Hermione sunk to her knees as she watched, frozen, as Draco walked over to Voldemort, head held high. He looked like a lion, standing up in the face of danger. How ironic.

She held her hands over her mouth as Voldemort welcomed Draco, wrapping him in a sort of embrace. The Order seemed to have made a wide berth around her, simultaneously watching both Draco and Hermione's actions.

She gave a quiet whimper when The Dark Lord pulled The Elder Wand from his robes.

She gasped, tears carving rivers through the grime on her face, when he pointed the wand at Draco's back, still hugging him.

But she was completely silent when Voldemort shouted those two dreaded words.

 _'Avada Kedavra!'_

And then Hermione screamed.

Draco's lifeless form fell to the ground, colliding with a loud _thump._ The Dark Lord sneered at it. Turned to address The Order.

He told them that only those of pure blood may join his ranks. That mudbloods and blood traitors, like Draco Malfoy, would be killed on sight.

Hermione didn't hear any of it.

The second she had seen the life leave Draco's eyes, she had curled into a fetal ball, her hands clamped over her ears and her sobs echoing across the desolate halls of the once-magnificent Hogwarts.

But the screams were by far the worst.

Awful, gut wrenching screams filled with all the pain this broken world had to offer. Sometimes they were incoherent. Other times one could almost here the dead name of Hermione's beloved. Every time they got worse.

Those screams caused everybody to flinch. They tried to plug their ears, anything to stop the sound of Hermione's pain. Her screams were filled with anguish. Grief.

Lost hope.

Hermione felt like something inside of her had broken. Snapped. Torn. Ripped to shreds.

She couldn't form a coherent thought. All she could hear was his smooth silky voice. All she could smell was the deep set masculine scent that seemed uniquely his own. All she could feel was the smooth texture of his skin and the softness of his feather-like hair. All she could taste was his lips on hers, conveying without words the love he had for her. All she could see were the few happy times they had spent together while on the run, and before that. Their secretly snatched time in Hogwarts. When he had first called her 'Hermione' rather than 'Granger'. When they had slept together that first night away from the manor. When he had taught her to dance, swinging her around to the beat of their own imaginary music until the only thing they could hear were the carefree peals of laughter between them.

When Draco Malfoy died he had taken Hermione's soul with him. Hermione Granger no longer existed. She was just an empty shell of what had been.

And when Voldemort realized that Hermione and her screams were stealing the attention away from him and his speech, he had growled threateningly at her. 'So this is the mudblood poor Draco was fraternizing with', he had said. Hermione flinched at the past tense used to describe Draco.

The sound of his voice directly addressing Hermione must have shaken her from her trance, for she looked up from her knees to meet the penetrating stare of The Dark Lord with empty eyes upon hearing him speak to her. Voldemort sneered.

Hermione was the first to break away from his stare, instead allowing her gaze to fall on the limp form of Draco Malfoy. She crawled over to him, ignoring a hiss from Voldemort, and put Draco's head in her lap, stroking his soft hair.

'Please,' she had begged, voice cracking, _'Kill me too.'_

If Voldemort had ever experienced shock, that would've been it. Many people had begged for death at the end of his wand, of course, but for a reason other than pain? _Love?_ It was outrageous! Idiotic! Why would anybody want to give their life after the death of another?

And when Voldemort had hesitated, Hermione had screamed at him. Raw, animalistic cries. 'KILL ME!' She had cried. 'KILL ME! KILL ME OR _I'LL DO IT MYSELF!'_

Hermione didn't feel anything. Just... emptiness. Something in her was gone, missing.

The Order had gaped at her, astonished that the death of a mere Death Eater had _broken Hermione Granger_. Shattered her to the point where she had lost the will to live. To the point where she pleaded for death.

Hermione knew one thing, and one thing only. She loved Draco Lucius Malfoy. And if Voldemort was going to try to separate them by killing one and not the other, she wouldn't have it. She would rather die than be eternally separated from her true love. So that was exactly what she was going to do.

Die.

Whether it be by the hands of Voldemort, another Death Eater, or by her own wand, Hermione Granger was going to die. Today. Right now.

She had nothing left to live for. The only person she truly trusted and cares about in this harsh world had been murdered. Sure, The Order would likely mourn her death, but it would be more for the loss of her intelligence rather than the loss of herself, as an actual person. Harry was already dead. Ron was a prat. Ginny and Luna and Neville... would be fine over time. They had to be.

It was Hermione's time to go.

And that is where Hermione Jean Granger died. In a world far in the future, parents would tell the story of the brave, fearsome witch that died to be with her true love. The wizarding version of Romeo and Juliet. It was on the dawn of May 2nd, 1998, that the now-dead dark wizard known as 'Lord Voldemort' uttered the two most feared words of all of wizard kind, wand aimed at Hermione's heart. Families would tell of how a bright green light had lit up the area, far brighter than any killing curse should be, and revealed the witch and the wizard, both dead and both holding hands. They say that each of them had a peaceful, serene look on their faces. They say that a couple seconds later, the bodies seemed to shimmer and fade from existence. They say that Voldemort had been killed by that same light, leaving the wizarding world in chaos.

To this day no one quiet knows what happened on the dawn of The Battle of Hogwarts. No one knows how Lord Voldemort died. Some say the curse rebounded. Others say that someone managed to kill him with while the others were still blinded by the light. Still more say that Voldemort never really died, and was hiding, plotting and working on rebuilding his path to power.

But I think that it was the love that Hermione Jean Granger and Draco Lucius Malfoy had for each other that killed The Dark Lord. A love so strong and powerful that the death of both ripped Voldemort to shreds.

It was a safe, free world now. Over the years blood purity beliefs had decreased greatly as the next generation of Hogwarts students were introduced to the world. Inter house unity became common, even between Gryffindors and Slytherins.

The ministry was taken under new management and reworked. Students received a flawless education at Hogwarts under the watchful eye of Headmistress Minerva McGonogall. Families were safe, loved, and happy.

 _All was well.  
_


End file.
